The Improbable Hope
by swagUPwindowsDOWN
Summary: "Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be." - Shel Silverstein. Warning for abuse. Rating subject to change.
1. Need

**Hey guys! I'm so excited because this is my new multichapter that I am determined to finish! I know I've said that before but I was young and inexperienced and now I'm older I hope that my writing is more mature and I can create stories with a real plot that has some depth. I would hope that is the case at least. I will try to update as regularly as I can but I don't know as of yet now often that will be. I am taking my time with this to ensure the best quality work so I hope you'll wait for me and eventually it will be complete.**

**WARNING: I have to make it clear that this deals with strong themes of abuse throughout. Even though there may not be much of it in this prologue, there will be many violent scenes to come in later chapters. If this could be triggering for you or hurt you in any way please do not read. I do not want to cause any harm.**

**Although Winnie the Pooh and the Power Rangers are mentioned, I do not own them. If I did it would mean me having to go back in time and change my date of birth.**

**Very sadly I also do not own Big Time Rush. I have sent the contracts to them but I don't think they have gotten there...must be the postman... ;)**

* * *

A hiss broke out as the drops of antiseptic drizzled into the cut, glazing it with transparent liquid and hopefully enabling a quicker healing process than the last had, considering it had been reopened the very next day by another lashing. All of them had scars covering their body, scars that wouldn't go away no matter how much they wanted them to. Another hiss and words of comfort were added to the thick silence that had filled the room as one worked to clean up the visible markings as best as he could.

"It's ok, just a little more and we can go and read that story with Logie, yeah?" a chestnut 17-year-old whispered apologetically, knowing that this had to be done but always wincing along with the boy in front of him for causing this added pain to the obviously painful gash.

"Ok...but can I have a Power Rangers band aid?" dark, almost black orbs stared up at him pleadingly and anyone, even James himself could not resist that puppy dog look that Carlos so dearly loved to use for his own gain. Usually, it worked every time.

The elder chuckled slightly, though it was slightly hoarse from the yelling he hadn't been able to suppress earlier in the kitchen. He had already patched the youngest of the three up; luckily the littlest hadn't received the worst of it today. He would have to look at his wounds as soon as the other two were in bed and asleep like he usually did. He didn't like them to see him get hurt and tried to keep all of it from them as much as he could. Of course, there were times when that simply didn't work, but he could try.

"Sure buddy, the red ranger, right?" he asked, although he knew off by heart that Carlos would never appreciate anything other than a red ranger band aid, unless they had the ones with all of the team on them. He would practically scream in pure joy if they had those in the house and James would have to gently remind him that they couldn't be too loud. They never could.

Once the band aid was firmly in place, James cleared up the medical supplies and put them back into their respective slots in the small handheld first aid kit that he had thought to acquire many years back. It had been a very useful purchase over the time he had lived – there both with and without his brothers – and he more often than not had to replenish it every few weeks when the stocks got low.

James had grown into quite the medic. At first the only thing he knew about any sort of medical attention was grazes and bumps. It was limited and didn't help him much in the first few years that this had been going on.

But over time, he had read up, both online and in books about the different types of injuries and how to best take care of them. Soon after, he had purchased said first aid kit with the little savings he had and never looked back. He may have gotten some things wrong at first, but now he knew everything from bandages to CPR.

It was not a nice feeling when you knew that the latter may be necessary in their household.

When he was done, he took Carlos in hand and led the 9-year-old out of his bedroom and into the one that the other two shared. Their bedrooms were seemingly their safe sanctuary as it were. Their father never came up here. Instead, he would crash out on the couch before he could even think to venture upstairs.

James was at least glad about that. He couldn't imagine how much worse their situation would be if they had to endure more torture when they thought they were safe.

Entering the room directly opposite his, he smiled as he saw a small brown-haired boy sitting on a bed covered in Winnie the Pooh covers, sucking his thumb. It was a habit that James had bit yet been able to get rid of as of yet. He expected that it was a stress reliever and a comfort of sort, which meant that he supposed he didn't mind so much if it meant the little one felt safe whilst doing so.

In the arm not raised to his mouth, he held his very own Winnie the Pooh, though the bear was in unmistakeable bad condition compared to the pristine fellow on the television. This Winnie the Pooh was missing its left ear, having been chewed off when Logan was teething. He was also half an arm short, after being snatched and thrown into the path of a lawn mower when Logan was 2. James had only just gotten to the bear in time and saved it from their enraged father who, that time, had told the toddler to grow up and stop hugging dolls.

That evening after Logan had cried himself to sleep, James had sat up with his late mother's sewing box, looked up a YouTube video online and had stitched into the early hours of the morning.

By the time his brother had woken up, Winnie the Pooh's severed arm had been tied off halfway up to his shoulder, and although it made the toy look slightly unbalanced, Logan couldn't have thanked James enough. As well as having dealt with the arm, James had personalised the bear and stitched in the four-year-old's name onto the red t-shirt that the bear was famous for wearing. Nevertheless, Logan was chuffed.

Carlos bounded up to his younger brother and climbed onto the bed, looking at the book that Logan had chosen for that night. Nodding his approval, he got himself sat comfortably on the bed and patted the spot next to him, indicating for James to settle in-between the two. James took the story and smiled as he felt two little bodies curl up beside him.

This was how it should be. Not having to worry about anything. No fears or anything to be afraid of. Or _anyone_. Just relaxed and happy, in their own world where nothing could get to them. It seemed nice when this happened.

For only a sleep away they would have to face the music. Face their cruel and unforgiving lives. It didn't matter that they were out of the door to school after only slightly more than an hour of being awake, because to them that felt like a lifetime.

It wasn't how James wanted his little brothers to grow up at all.

* * *

When he pictured a family at breakfast, he saw everyone smiling and greeting each other. Logan would run up and hug their mother, who wouldn't have passed away so tragically. She would pick him up and tickle his sides whilst asking him how he slept and of course not forgetting to ask him if Winnie the Pooh slept well too.

Carlos meanwhile would automatically run over to see what was cooking, most likely bacon or eggs or even pancakes. His father, reading the daily newspaper, would chuckle lightly and comment how Carlos had eyes bigger than his stomach or something like that, reaching over to ruffle the lad's hair and pull him in for a gentle noogie.

James would enter laughing and go over to hug his father after Carlos had been let go. He would be enthusiastic about asking him what time his ice hockey game was that afternoon so he wouldn't miss it. Instead of making sure that James wouldn't set foot into the ice rink, let alone let him play hockey, he would support James' talent for the sport with open arms, like every good parent. His mother would tell him to be careful whilst laying out the heaping plates of breakfast on the table and they would eat and converse until they had to finish getting ready and go to school.

Instead, the next morning they were sure to be woken up by the crashing downstairs as their father woke up still under the influence of whatever he had drank or taken the night before. He may be a bit more sober, but his balance would be off and he'd be cranky because of it. They would descend the stairs quietly, even Carlos, as to not anger him any more than he already was and enter the kitchen without saying anything.

Their father would be sitting at the breakfast table, in last night's clothes (which would most likely be stained) and once he acknowledged their presence, he would scowl and mutter expletives under his breath until he could muster up the effort to haul his aged body onto its feet and drag James over to the cooker, wanting his breakfast made for him.

James would start cooking one and only one portion, all the while trying to keep an eye on what their father did to his younger brothers. Any move, each flinch and every breath he would criticise and try to second guess what would come next. He would protect them as much as he could, put his life on the line for them if it came to it, but sometimes he just couldn't get there in time. There were also those times when protecting them may even get them hurt more. You could never know with their father.

Carlos would go straight to the table, sitting down and looking at the floor, not daring to avert his eyes to any other point in the room. He longed to be able to watch how James cooked the food, yet he would be accused of loitering and being in the way by their father. Their father hated people getting in the way of him and Carlos knew he could get as many as twenty lashes with the brass-buckled belt if he did. So, extremely unlike his character anywhere away from the man, he remained silent and invisible.

Logan would at first cower behind his brothers upon entering the kitchen. But when his two brothers went their separate ways, he would force his legs up to their father and wait to be spoken to. He too would keep his gaze fixated on the tiles below. Finally, his father would smirk up at him, watching the boy tremble, before making him recite the rules put in place for the entire household. One by one, Logan would repeat what his father had told them years ago, also announcing the consequences for each rule if they were to not abide.

The psychological torture from the words spilling out of his mouth would torture them all and Logan would finish nearly in tears each time.

When their father had finished, after deciding if James' cooking that day was satisfactory and didn't deserve a beating, they would hurry back upstairs having not uttered anything apart from Logan and the rules.

Congregating in Carlos and Logan's room – since James would help them to get ready first before he himself did – James would produce from his pockets whatever food items he had managed to grab whilst cooking the breakfast. It may be slightly fluffy from the material of his pyjama pants, but they would all wolf it down anyway because they didn't know when they would next get to eat. A bit of fluffiness would never put them off something others take for granted.

The horrors would only stop briefly once at school. James would drop his younger brothers off at their classes. Carlos would go in first, as he was in a higher grade and those classrooms were closer to the gates. For a time, the 9-year-old would forget all of his troubles and once he saw his classroom, would gallop off in front of the other two.

It was a moment of pure happiness and James would gently pull Logan over to the classroom so he could greet Carlos' teacher. Carlos would wave and shout his goodbye before running into the classroom to be with his friends. James wished that they had a normal life, because then Carlos would be able to invite his friends to dinner and continue his friendships outside of school.

The bubbly brother was always able to make friends easily and able to keep them for a long time. He was just a people person. Everyone he met seemed to like him and James knew that he had a fair bunch of friends to choose from if he ever did want to invite someone round if their father magically were to up and leave.

If they were to try that now, goodness knows what would happen.

The boys would then continue on their way towards the younger section of the school. Logan's preschool classroom came into view and James would mentally give out a massive sigh. Usually, Logan would put up a bit of a fight about going into said classroom. James figured it was because he was nervous about leaving him and also of the other children in the class.

Logan was a naturally shy person. He was always very quiet and only really spoke if asked something. He didn't like playing with anyone else other than his brothers and preferred to talk to his toys rather than youngsters his own age. Otherwise, he preferred to use small gestures to communicate, but generally he just went along with everyone else.

This shyness also meant that, to date, the small boy hadn't made any friends. James knew for a fact that the trauma of their home life had made Logan wary of others and unwilling to start up any sort of relationship with them. At such a young age, apart from his brothers, Logan didn't know that there could be good people in the world.

The telltale signs of Logan's reluctance to leave James and go into his classroom for the day would start when he would inch himself impossibly closer to James, almost shrinking into his side like it would camouflage him.

Both of his tiny arms would then wrap themselves around James' larger one and he would begin to make little sounds, whining and trying his very best to pull James back and make his oldest brother take him anywhere else but there. Of course James would probably end up having to pick the boy up in his arms and physically take him there himself.

On bad mornings, Logan would then resort to crying because of how badly he didn't want to be there and it would take a further 15 minutes for both him and the preschool teacher to calm the 4-year-old down enough to be able to get him to slowly let go of James and return to his own two feet.

Logan would still whine when James stepped back, ready to leave, but the teacher would eventually convince him to stay with the mention of a few stories or something like that. James would then walk out of the elementary; waving behind him every so often because he knew Logan would stay there at the door watching until he was out of sight.

Then he would finally head off to his own school, most likely being late for homeroom...again.

And that was only the morning. After picking the boys up from school later that afternoon, their hell would start once again.

* * *

James sighed as he closed the book, gently smiling as he felt the warmth of his little brothers leaning up against his sides. Carlos blinked his droopy eyes slowly, taking a while to comprehend that the story was over and that it was time to go to bed.

Usually, James would put Logan to bed an hour and a half earlier than Carlos, but as today had been a bad beating for all of them, he had made some exceptions. He figured they all had needed some together time tonight.

As Carlos clumsily raised himself from his little brother's bed, James looked down at his other side to find Logan already fast asleep, having nodded off halfway through the story. James whispered for Carlos to get into bed as he lifted his littlest brother up and carefully laid him back down under the covers. He made sure his favourite cuddly bear was next to him before tucking him in and kissing his head softly.

Making his way over to Carlos, he found the 9-year-old putting away the book they had just read. James held the covers open, letting Carlos jump in with a flying leap and bouncing lightly as he landed on his stomach in his own Power Rangers-themed bed. James chuckled to himself as he pulled the covers over Carlos, tucking in the edges.

"James?" Carlos questioned quietly, an unusual expression of deep thought upon his face.

"Yeah, buddy?" James replied, sitting on the edge of the bed, next to Carlos' small legs.

"Do you think we will ever have a happy family like that? You know, like the one in the story?"

James hesitated as he looked into the big puppy dog eyes that both Carlos and Logan possessed. How could he tell his 9-year-old brother that as long as they lived here, with their father, that the notion of a happy family was pretty much an unrealistic dream? It would never happen under this roof with their father.

Maybe when James turned 18 next year, he could try and get a job and then find a small place of his own. He could then report his father for the years of abuse they had all endured and because he would legally be an adult, he could take custody of his little brothers. Maybe then they could be a happy little family like in that book.

The reason James had to stay was because if he reported his father to the authorities now, they would most likely be taken into the foster system, where it was very possible that the three would be split up and never see each other again. James didn't want that. He knew all of them wouldn't be able to survive without one another.

So for now, they had to sit tight and wait for another horror-filled year before they might finally be able to start anew and be the happy family they wanted to.

"Carlos..." James started, trying to figure out what to say. He didn't want to disappoint the boy but he didn't want to massively sugar coat it as well. "Someday, we will be a happy family. Just you, me and Logie. And we'll have a real fun time together and never get hurt again. But it isn't going to happen right now. We have to wait a bit more, just until I'm 18 and can look after you guys on my own properly, ok?"

"But you already look after us on your own really well."

James smiled and rubbed the leg closest to him comfortingly. "I'm glad you think so, buddy, but at the moment the state doesn't care if I do a good job, I'm just not old enough to be allowed to on my own yet. But like I said, one more year. Think you can wait a bit more?"

Carlos nodded eagerly and held his arms out for a hug. James leaned in and wrapped his own around his brother, kissing his forehead and whispering a soft "goodnight." Carlos murmured his reply, already drifting off into the land of dreams.

James silently made his way back to the bedroom door, making sure that Logan's nightlight was on before slowly exiting and leaving the door ajar behind him, just in case one of the two had a nightmare, meaning he would be able to hear something was wrong. Also, he knew that the light in the hallway tended to calm them down some if they woke up scared.

When James went into his own room and sat down on his own bed, he finally let a few merciless tears fall from the blockade. All day he put on a brave face for his little brothers, reassuring them that things would be ok and trying to make their lives as happy as could be with current circumstances.

But when James was on his own he could finally let the mask slip and succumb to his emotions that he fought so valiantly to hide.

He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help but partly blame himself for all the hurt they endured. If he were stronger he could protect Carlos and Logan better and make sure they never got hurt by their father in the first place. He would be able to fend him off whenever he came in to attack.

Instead, they would all have scars and marks for life because he couldn't get his stupid ass in gear and protect the ones he loved.

Sighing to himself, he reached to the bedside table where the first aid kit had been left earlier. He began to open the red box and grabbed some supplies before pulling off his t-shirt to view the damage.

At least ten long lashes lay upon his chest, marks from the buckle having been torn into his precious golden skin. They stung with great vengeance as he wiped the antiseptic into the cuts, much like he did earlier with Carlos. That was the bad thing about the injuries they sustained. Even though the beating would have finished, they still hurt for a long time after, constantly reminding you they were there.

And as he himself hissed at the discomfort, he cried quietly for all the sorrow that he felt. For how bad life had become. For all of his dreams for himself and for his brothers that would never come true as far as he could see. For all of the pain. For all of the sadness.

"I wish I knew where you were" he whispered absentmindedly, changing into his pyjamas and climbing into bed.

He looked longingly at the starry night outside of the window, the way they twinkled with happiness and freedom. How he wanted that.

"We need you, Kendall."

James closed his eyes and let the last of his tears fall past his lashes. He let his breathing slow and fell into an uncomfortable slumber.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are like freshly baked fluffy cookies. I can't get enough. Please comment and tell me what you think and if I should continue.**

**Thank you,**

**~swagUPwindowsDOWN :) x**


	2. Cracked

**Wow guys thank you so much for the amazing response for this story, it's wonderful to see you all like it and I couldn't be more grateful for all the favourites, follows and reviews! Thank you so so much. I will respond to everyone that has an account on here personally. I hope this is being uploaded regularly enough for you guys. I'm going on holiday or Thursday for 11 days but after that I'll be back to working on this. Once again, thank you! **

**The violent scenes, however little they are, start from this chapter here on. You have been warned.**

**To the Guest reviewers:**

**Rusher Driver: it's very controversial writing about subjects like these because you're right, they do still happen today. And they shouldn't. By writing this I'm hoping that more people can become aware of this issue. Thanks for your support!**

**TwiPotter Girl: thank you! I'm glad your a regular reader and sorry for being gone so long! **

**Destiny Draco: thank you! I hope you like this chapter too! **

**Guest: I'm really not very confident in my writing so for you to say that is great, thank you.**

**Again I don't own Big Time Rush, I'm sure that I could though...one day...some day..maybe not... ;)**

* * *

Kendall Knight awoke to nothing in particular. He was one of those men who didn't seem to run to a specific time but rather made the clocks wait for him, even if it meant the afternoon was scheduled for the evening. The sun was blaring through his plush silk curtains undeterred as he stretched and smacked his lips together unappealingly. Arms flopping above his head, he glanced towards his alarm clock where the numbers 1:17 glared back at him.

He sighed, briefly mulling over the idea of staying in bed all day, but decided against it when an obnoxious drilling sound came from the neighbour's apartment below. They were lucky it was the afternoon otherwise Kendall would have stomped over there and complained himself if it were any earlier. Mornings were meant for sleeping. Didn't people know that?

No one should be allowed to drill that loudly. Especially when _he_ was the person living above.

It took a few attempts for him to muster up enough energy and purpose to be able to raise himself high enough so that he could swing his legs round the side of the king-sized bed. Trying was effort and effort was something he didn't have. He wasn't quite on autopilot but he certainly hadn't tuned in yet.

He looked upon his wardrobe disdainfully as he almost blindly sauntered around the room. He decided that some boxers would be enough clothing for that day, considering he wasn't going to do anything and smelling a random pair strewn across his floor, the blonde considered them to be ok, even if he may have worn them a few days ago.

He wasn't at the office so standards didn't need to accompany him.

Leaving the unkempt room, he walked out into the corridor and staggered down to the massive kitchen. He had considered getting a maid or some sort of chef so that he wouldn't have to bother with making his own meals – another effort he couldn't bother to deal with – but he hadn't gotten round to that yet. Maybe next pay check he thought. Money would not be an issue.

Taking in the inventory of his somewhat overstocked refrigerator, he merely shrugged before pulling out the carton of eggs and cracked a few into a bowl. Adding milk and all the items needed for his omelette, he expertly flipped it before slipping it onto a plate and discarded the pan in the overflowing sink.

One of the good things about living in a penthouse apartment was the view. His in particular was the most sought after in town. He had paid for it big time, but he didn't care. Money was money. Throw a few wrinkly green bills at a girl in a strip club and she would dance until she could no more. Money made people act and react. It gave him power. And if he had a lot of it, even better.

As he manoeuvred his way towards the transparent windows that lined his living room, he opened a glass door and stepped onto the balcony that wrapped around most of the penthouse. Sitting at a comfortable table and chairs set he had chucked money onto a few years back; he devoured the fluffed up eggs rather quickly. With no one living with him, he had his own company to companion him. He didn't like to think of the loneliness, but it was always there.

Sometimes, he would wonder if things would have been different. A long time ago, and that wasn't just a figure of speech, it was literally 10 years ago, he'd made a decision that had ultimately gotten him this life in the first place. Of course, not all at once and definitely not at first. But eventually, things went his way. He found a best friend out here and together they had proved themselves to the big guns. He was doing what he had always wanted to do, but he still wasn't all happy.

It still didn't feel as satisfying as he thought it would. Almost abortive in a respect that he couldn't figure out just yet.

A shrill ringing cut off his thought process and he sighed heavily before going back inside to find the object on his mind. Cursing as he couldn't find the thing, it kept ringing and Kendall could swear that he would have started banging his head against the door if he had not delved under his comforter and found it.

"Kendall!"

Of course it would be Dak. He always thought to check up on him on his days off. What he was doing, whether he had he eaten, if he was even out of bed yet – and the like. It may have seemed a bit abrupt, but he knew that if left to his own devices, the blonde-haired man would sit on his ass all day watching re-runs of that old sitcom nobody really likes, yet feels obliged to watch just so they can comment on its absurdity.

"Dak, so nice to hear your sweet, obnoxious voice so loud and early in the morning."

"Morning? Dude, how much did you have to drink last night?"

"Ehh a couple...no, maybe a few more than that...who cares?"

"You're going to mess up one day, you know. You can't keep going to the bar and picking up random chicks-" the brown-haired man heard a slight mumble on Kendall's side of the phone "-or guys and doing what you like with them. It ain't respectful, man."

"Yeah, yeah and they really think that too when they're stuffing my bills down their throats. Trust me, they know how they'll get treated and they don't mind it. Half of them are kinky, two-faced bastards anyw-"

"Kendall Knight! I know you've been out drinking to god knows what hour and I only hope that this is some of your slowly dissipating drunkenness talking, but that is no way to speak about anyone ever. I thought you, of all people, would know that considering..."

Kendall sighed, wiping a hand across his eyes as if he were attempting to rid the sudden migraine that had just surfaced at Dak's seemingly annoying but very true words.

He knew better than that. He knew that he shouldn't be out in the town every night and throwing precious years of his life away, but what else could he do? His only friend was talking to him down the phone reminding him to not be a total asshole and to pick up what remnants of his fractured life he could and do something productive whilst the only other person he could talk to was the girl at the local coffee shop that he stopped by every morning. He may have had a dream job but apart from that, his life was anything but perfect.

In a way, he had chosen the coward's way out. He hadn't faced up to his fears or done something about it that didn't involve only thinking about himself. He didn't stick it out for a few more years or even tell the cops, but what else could he have done? Well, ok, he knew. He could have taken _him_ with him to Los Angeles. He could have gotten _him_ out of there. But he didn't.

He couldn't deal with it. He had been through too much. It was too much hassle. He was 18 at the time when he moved out here and he didn't know much about raising someone else. He hadn't even experienced life yet, so how on earth would they have coped.

At least back there, where he had departed from, there was shelter and food. Albeit not much of it, it would have been more than he would have been able to provide, especially in the first few months.

"I know, Dak, it's just been hard for me recently since Michael turned out to be a cheat and-"

"Kendall you're the one who said he was a cheat with no reason behind it!"

"Well he was, ok? I just know it. He spent way too long coming home from work that one Saturday and I knew."

"He was getting you an engagement ring, Kendall, you know that..." Dak replied weakly, seeing he wasn't getting anywhere. Usually he would back down in situations like this and it looked like he might have to soon, otherwise Kendall would be giving him the cold shoulder for a few days coming.

"Oh I'm sure that was just a cover, besides he never spent any time with me and instead went out with friends all the time!" Kendall nodded triumphantly even though Dak couldn't see it.

"He went to a funeral, Kendall. A friend's funeral. He stayed with you and went wherever you wanted all the time. There was nothing wrong."

"I just know it! I'm Kendall Knight and I am never wrong, ok? Now stop talking about this petty little matter and move on. It hasn't been very easy for me recently and I have every right to be doing whatever I want. Including getting drunk and watching TV all day. Ok? I'm an adult for Christ's sake."

"Not a very sensible one" the other end replied quietly, though Kendall still heard. He bit back whatever harsh reply was going to come out and growled in frustration instead, picking up a pillow and throwing it against the wall in front of him.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

The click sounded the end of the conversation and again Kendall threw the closest thing to him against the wall in anger. The small thing soared towards its target, spinning like a boomerang. Only it didn't come back. A soft cracking sound resonated around the bedroom and his heart seemed to stop for minutes as he realised just what he had thrown.

"No, no, no, no" he whispered raking a hand shakily through his locks, matted with a little sweat from the night before. Some was sticking to his forehead, but he couldn't care less about having a shower in that moment. Nightmares were still more of a common occurrence than he would have liked.

"No, no, no. Please no" his feet ran clumsily towards the object which was now lying face down on the abused pillow. A soft landing was better than nothing, but the crack from before certainly wasn't. He breathed in sharply at the sight, before picking it up in such a gentle way that Kendall would have thought he had possessed someone else's hands until he saw his own fingertips gripping the wooden frame.

Turning it over slowly, he drew in a shallow breath. With his pinkie finger, he traced the outline of two figures captured in time. One, only about the age of 16, had blonde hair much like him, except it was much more golden compared to his now sandy shade. The blonde's arms containing small, still-forming muscles – a key feature of adolescence and obvious puberty – were wrapped around the other figure in the picture, enveloping the smaller in a seemingly endless embrace. Security and comfort radiated out, soon absorbed by the willowing breeze wafting through the apartment and swept around as if in a hurricane of wild, uncoordinated thoughts.

The younger had a chestnut mop upon his head, mussed and ruffled by a non-existent wind at the time which Kendall could have sworn had been sucked in from the breeze in the very room he was standing in. The boy was only around 5 years old but already he had a smile perfected for such moments. Kendall briefly wondered if it had been perfected so well because of its misuse or underuse, he couldn't decide. His head was leaning back, tucked safely under the blonde's and he looked so innocent, so happy.

And in that moment they were. They weren't in any harm in that moment. They weren't in danger from that. They were together on a day out, though he forgets where and why.

The crack itself was small and luckily crept past but didn't come near the two figures in the picture. He was glad they hadn't been shattered, well the glass on top, but it was the same thing in his mind. He didn't believe in bad omens, but a crack into one of them could foreshadow something and he didn't want that.

The crack splintered like a lighting bolt. It's path downwards and leading to many shorter, tinier cracks at the side. Lightning never struck the same place twice. It was a shame people couldn't be like lightning. They could strike twice. Or more.

However, there was some similarity. Lightning holds energy, so much that it could kill you with a single bolt. It's fast and impulsive, too quick to predict where and when it will be. Humans could be like that too sometimes. All the lightning inside of them building up until suddenly it is released in one burst. Negative emotions coming out in violence.

Some people could strike every day. Or even every hour. He knew that for sure.

That's why it was better out here, in this new life.

No harm, no danger...no father.

* * *

_"Daddy, please, Daddy! Let me out! Please" legs kicked against the door as beady eyes looked up evilly at him, planning their next move. Scuttling from cockroaches and spiders joined the rats in torturing the poor boy even further. "Daddy! PLEASE!"_

* * *

Kendall gasped, eyes widening as he took a step backwards.

* * *

_"You ungrateful son of a bitch! I give you food, clothes, a home and you go and wreck it! You do not leave your toys on the stairs! You do not litter your home with stupid little things. You understand me?" Silence met his question and he gripped the front of the boy's t-shirt, lifting him up so that his face was level with his own and legs left dangling. He growled and reached into his pocket. The front right one, right where he kept the knife._

* * *

Kendall bumped into the back of his bed, falling over onto his back, horizontal against the plaid comforter.

* * *

_"Dad...um..." The small boy hesitated when he noticed the beer cans spread across the floor and the six-pack next to the stubbly man on the worn out couch. No recognition came so he tried to tactfully bring the subject up again. "The baby's crying...I think he might be hungry..." _

_Grumbles and curses followed as the man turned one lazy eye towards his supposed son. He had this creepy talent where he could move either eye on it's own. Like a chameleon. It proved terrifying for the 11-year old, especially during the dark. _

_"Get him some food then, it ain't my job. Why you're stupid mother wanted another brat is behind me. I certainly ain't being responsible for it." He glugged the last of the beer and threw the can behind him, narrowly missing the blonde. _

_"O-ok..." He made his way to the kitchen and made up some of the baby formula. He expertly tested it's temperature and quietly made his way upstairs where the baby was still snivelling. Even after only 3 months, even he knew not to be too loud._

_"H-hey baby. Don't worry, Kendall's here. I've got some milk...would you like that?" He carefully slid the bars of the crib down and picked the infant up. The baby immediately stopped crying and looked up at him with gorgeous hazel eyes. He knew who Kendall was already. _

_As the baby began to suck on the bottle, unaware of the harm surrounding him, Kendall hugged him close, rocking back and forth and humming a small tune. He smiled down as the baby looked up at him and giggled around the milk in his mouth. Kendall giggled back as well, hugging him impossibly closer._

_"It'll be ok" he whispered "it'll be ok. I'll protect you. Big brother Kendall will never let anything happen to you. You'll be safe with me. And if ever I'm not there and something happens, you can slap me silly. I promise I'll be there for you, James."_

* * *

Curling up on the bed, he reached over and placed the photo back where it was stood before. He brought his knees up and buried his head.

He couldn't have taken James. There were too many memories. He needed a fresh start. He couldn't have been a good parent either. He broke his promise so many times that he didn't deserve to be called brother, let alone raise him.

No, he was better off out here, with his best friend Dak, the girl from the coffee shop and his job. He was better off going and getting drunk and lazing around and having a good time.

It may have been lonely, but he was sure James was better off without him. He would have only done something wrong otherwise.

Besides...he was Kendall Knight.

He was never wrong.

* * *

**So what did you think? What do you think of Kendall now that you've been introduced to him? Do you feel sorry for him? Or think he's a jerk?**

**Thank you again for such an amazing response. Reviews are amazing to read, they really brighten my day. Please leave your comments and what you think!**

**Thank you,**

**~swagUPwindowsDOWN :) x**


	3. Cleansed

**Hey guys! Sorry that this update has taken so long to come out. I started school the day after I came back from my holiday and being I'm now in sixth form, there's been a bit of a heavy workload. Plus my life has just been hectic in generally, so don't think I've gone AWOL or anything. I'm back now.**

**Thank you so so so much for all of the reviews, favourites and follows! It means so much and I'm so glad that you all like this story so much.**

**Strong scenes of abuse in this chapter. Angst all round!**

**Again I don't own Big Time Rush or anything mentioned apart from the plot. But I'm hoping that one day I'll travel to America and see them on the off chance and get them to sing to me ALL. DAY. LONG.**

**Hope you enjoy ****J**

* * *

Weekends were dangerous.

That was it. Right there. Period.

Two whole days with their father, who would go nowhere but to the local off-licence to buy even more alcohol over and over and over again. It was a surprise that his liver hadn't exploded yet with all of the foul substance he was consuming per day, but somehow he was able to keep on drinking with seemingly no long term or harmful effects.

Of course that didn't mean that there weren't short term effects. There were plenty of those lingering about his person to match the stench clinging to the breaths wafting around his mouth.

If James were to try and remember the last time that the man had cleaned his teeth, let alone brush his hair or have a shower, it had been too long ago to even remember properly. Maybe when their mother was still around, but definitely no time after.

48 hours can be a very long time when you're in a small house with 4 occupants, one of whom is no less than a monster. The boys were all forever on edge, never relaxing, never doing what they wanted. No one would ever know what would happen at the weekends.

No one could be happy in their household.

James was startled into awareness very early that morning. It couldn't have been long past 6am, yet he heard the soft scrunches of feet on carpet leading up to his bed and then someone was shaking his shoulders none too carefully, jostling him from his sleep.

As the small manmade earthquake tumbled throughout his bed, he barely had time to register the pounding beneath his temples as the shaking soon turned to tugging at his left arm which had fallen over the side of his bed during sleep. James groaned outwardly, huffing a few times, but pulled himself up into a sitting position and turned to the source of the early wake up call.

Carlos stood there, bleary-eyed and yawning, yet his tugging didn't stop until the elder asked him what was wrong. At the question, Carlos became far more alert and he started tugging again, jabbering out a bunch of words that were only just quiet enough not to wake their father.

"-And I don't know why he's crying and I couldn't do anything to help so I thought you could and-" the rate at which Carlos was throwing words around was dizzying, but once his groggy mind caught up, he immediately became concerned.

"Woah, Carlos, slow down. What's happened?"

"I don't know. I woke up and Logie was crying. I asked him why but he couldn't stop crying to tell me."

"Ok" it was too early to think straight and James had to take a few seconds to process what he had been told before deciding what action needed to be taken. Quickly, but also as quietly as he could, he made his way out of his bed and followed Carlos into the others' own room.

As he entered an immediate smell drifted into his nostrils and James didn't have to guess twice as to why Logan was crying. Carlos probably hadn't realised the additional smell in the vicinity, but to James' trained nose it was definitely there.

The 17-year-old sighed in sympathy as he heard the small sobs emitting from under the comforter that was drawn up and around a tiny, trembling body. The sobs themselves tore into the darkness, ripping apart any silence that had enveloped the night and rolled onto the other occupants in the room, bringing them into a certain surge of sadness as well.

Fear radiated around too, an unwanted presence but James knew Logan had a right to be scared. Because if their father ever found out no one would be able to tell what type of punishment he might subject the youngest to. Or more likely, what type of torture.

Logan had wet the bed.

"Oh Logie" the eldest whispered as he softly walked up to the 4-year-old and lifted him up in one swift movement. He didn't even care about the sopping wet pyjamas that were pressing to his own top; the only thing he cared about at that moment was comforting Logan and making sure he calmed down. He gently rocked the boy in his arms and shushed him, relieved when the sobs turned into cries and those into sniffles.

"Carlos, could you get Logie some new pyjamas out please?" James asked, trying to find the other boy – who was currently standing cluelessly in the middle of the room – something to do so he could spare Logan becoming even more embarrassed than his incredibly red face connoted at the moment. Logan always got easily embarrassed at the littlest of things, his home life no doubt contributing to the need to always be perfect and feeling like people were judging when he wasn't.

As Carlos set out to do that task, James skilfully used the one free hand that wasn't supporting Logan to strip the damp sheets off of the brunette's bed. Luckily, as Logan had succumbed to this problem before, James had been clever enough to place a mattress protector underneath the sheets so that he wouldn't have to deal with a soaked mattress also.

He changed said item with a new one and proceeded out of the room and into the bathroom to clean Logan up. He would change the sheets later when Logan was happier to be out of his hold.

He gently pulled the pyjama shirt and bottoms off of the 4-year-old and threw them in the hamper next to the wash basin. They wouldn't be found by their father in there and James would wash them with the rest of the dirty clothes later so that he would never know and no one would be punished.

Then as quietly as one could manage when dealing with plumbing facilities, he ran the water into the bath until the temperature was just right and plugged it, watching as the clear water filled to halfway before stopping. Bubbles wouldn't matter right now, he doubted Logan was awake enough to even realise anyway.

The bath was a quick in and out. Logan was in that tired mode toddlers usually got into when they hadn't had enough sleep and it showed as he kept whining a lot as James led the washcloth over his pale skin. James could understand though. He might have been up for a few hours already crying over his accident and he hadn't heard.

Automatically guilt settled in, a guest he very much didn't want in casa James.

Carlos came in timidly, which was quite astonishing for the eldest to see, but he knew that it was because he always got a little scared when people were upset. Carlos himself was usually able to let things slide and focus on the positives, yet he couldn't understand why others couldn't do the same and became slightly alarmed when they didn't. Carlos was a 'cheerer-upper'. He always wanted to make people smile and see them happy.

"Hey Carlitos" James greeted quietly so as not to startle the wide-eyed boy "why don't you help Logie put those new pyjamas on? He's feeling a bit better now" James lifted the 4-year-old out if the bathtub and placed him in front of his 9-year-old brother. Carlos beamed at the task. He _loved_ being able to play big brother and show James how he could help out with Logan. And what made it even easier was that Logan loved Carlos looking after him as much as he did James.

Whilst Carlos had easily situated into the role he had been given, James felt like this was the opportune moment to run downstairs quickly and put the sheets along with the pyjamas in the wash. They wouldn't take too long and by the time he would have put the other two to bed again, he could go downstairs and finish them in the dryer before putting them back in the airing cupboard.

He was just opening the washing machine, stained sheets and clothing beside him in a discarded pile, when he heard a noise.

He hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

He had checked when he came downstairs for their drunken father and had found him passed out in the living room, slung haphazardly over the arm of the couch. James had almost wanted to right the position, because even though their dad was horrible he still cared somewhat about him, like any child would. But the task at hand was more important. Their father probably deserved to wake up with a crook in his neck.

The noise occurred again and James recognised the sound of a man rising from sleep. The disgruntled snorts protruding from hairy lips told him exactly what was making those particular sounds. Footsteps, heavy and unbalanced thudded towards the laundry room at the other end of the house and James panicked.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy!" the bristled beast bellowed, stomping into the doorway and creating entrapment for James. There was nowhere he could run, his only escape blocked by a monster. "It's fucking early in the morning and you decide to be banging around, interrupting _my_ sleep! And unless you have a bloody good excuse for it you'll be getting a beating now _and_ extra in the morning!"

The man before James proceeded forward as if to grab the teen in front of him, but not seeing the sheets in his pathway meant that he went head over heels onto the floor beneath him with a tremendous thud. James winced himself and cowered slightly when his father's face turned impossibly redder in anger and he could have sworn he saw trickles of steam rising upwards.

"FUCK!"

The next thing James knew was that he was running, tripping over his feet in a rush to catch up with his father, to stop him from doing anything to his brothers. It had been so instant, the way that the man had grabbed the sheets, inspected the rather large wet patch in the middle and growled loudly before charging upstairs to where the others were in the bathroom that he wasn't ready.

"YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE BRAT!"

James met his father halfway in the hallway to see him literally dragging Logan and Carlos behind him as they scrappled at his grip on their poor, unsuspecting arms. James frantically tried to plead, beg, take their place; anything but it all came up with no result. James even tried pulling at the grip on their arms, but all he was answered with was a harsh slap on his cheek, so forceful that he was knocked to the ground. That was quickly followed by a kick to his ribs, where James swore he could have heard a crack. Forgetting his need to be strong, he cried out in pain.

That brief moment between falling and lying slightly dazed on the floor was all their father needed to almost chuck the other two down the staircase and take them past the living room, past the kitchen, all the way to the basement door where the rats, spiders and cockroaches colonised for these precise moments.

With no hesitation, he flung the door open and released his grip on Carlos, swiftly shoving him into the dark abyss. By this time, James had finally caught up and was trying again to stop his father in what he was doing. Instead, he too found himself being shoved through the door and struggling for footing on the thin wooden steps that led down to the infested basement. He saw the tear-stained face of his baby brother staring back at him as the door closed and locked once, twice, thrice.

And down he went. In any other situation, it might have been slightly amusing to see a rather tall and lanky boy rolling backwards down the stairs, but all he knew was that it hurt. He tucked his head into his chest, his back taking the brunt of the impact and soon he realised he was coming to the bottom of the staircase.

If you ever experienced being locked in the basement, in _this_ basement, you knew never to leave the last step of the staircase and venture to the floor below. The creatures in there held no fear of the three boys often subjected to the room and would come out vengeful and looking for food, searching for blood.

The rats would patter over in a flash, squeaking to each other and working in perfect unison to overcome their next prey. Their beady, red eyes would bear into souls and leave imprints there forever. Whoever they managed to overcome would be left forever with the memory of the grey things scratching, biting, and gnawing at their feet, climbing up their legs.

The cockroaches would scuttle over, climbing over one another in their hurry for their fresh smelling victims. However this breed had gotten into the basement didn't matter, but how they had seemingly mutated did. They were almost as big as James' own hand when the fingers were splayed apart to their farthest. They would hiss too, some sounding as if they were growling and in their hundreds would begin to ascend whatever body they could; looking for openings...mouth, nose, ears...they'd get in and stay there.

The spiders were somewhat slower. A languid crawl, 4 legs after the others. Their many eyes would hone in on the target, suss out where best to swing their webs around for best grip, where would be the most unsuspecting place to zoom up a leg or suddenly whizz out and into a sock. Spiders were clever creatures. They knew how to really make their victim squirm.

Knowing all of this, James really didn't want to fall right to the very bottom. He dug his heels in as if he were a braking car and reached out, clinging to the fourth-to-bottom step with all of his strength and finally, he didn't roll over again. He felt another hand grasping his and Carlos' wet face looking down on him. With all of his 9-year-old strength Carlos helped his older brother up so that he could sit on the steps higher up. For some reason the pests didn't go up this far.

Maybe they were scared of heights?

The two sat there in silence for a while, hearing nothing but the mysterious scratching, scuffling and squeaking below. Slowly, James raised an already bruising arm and dropped around Carlos' shoulder, bringing him into a hug. The smaller immediately sought comfort, letting a few tears soak into the elder's pyjama shirt. James, for once, bent his head on top of Carlos' and felt a few tears slip past his barricade.

"James?" Carlos sniffled when they had both calmed down a bit.

"What's up, buddy?"

"What's gonna happen to Logie? He didn't do it on purpose did he?"

"No" James sighed; running a hand through the younger's hair "it was an accident. Remember when you accidentally wet the bed sometimes when you were his age?"

"Yeah I do" Carlos replied "but you didn't answer the other question...is Logie gonna get hurt really bad?"

James sighed again. He hated not being able to protect one or both of his brothers from the abuse. "I don't know, Carlos. But whatever happens, we'll be there for him afterwards."

* * *

Logan sobbed as his father told him to get into the bathtub. He had just filled it up with water from the cold faucet and didn't even bother to make Logan change out of his pyjama bottoms. When their father had found him and Carlos, the older brother had only just finished helping Logan into the bottoms and so Logan was left shirtless.

In fact, when the 4-year-old hesitated because he was wondering why his father was seemingly giving him a bath in the first place – because of course it wasn't something that usually happened at all in their household – the one in charge grabbed him by the ear and dragged him over the edge of the tub until he was sitting in the icy water.

Logan gasped. His hairs stood on end as shivers forced goosebumps to rise all over his body. His teeth chattered as his pyjama bottoms soaked through and the water lapped at his navel, rigid pricks that made his body feel numb and his muscles jump at every lick of water.

"When little boys are very bad and result to acting like vile rodents by wetting the bed, do you know what happens?" Logan shivered this time, not from the coldness of the water, but from the sudden calm in his father's voice.

Some would think that when a person shouts, yells and outright screams at them, that it is the scariest way someone could talk to you. But anyone going through any abuse would know that something like that was just normal. The scary thing would be when the tormenter spoke normally. Their tone calm and soft, eerily quiet and you begin thinking: how could they calm down this quickly? Where has their anger gone? But in truth, the anger is there. It's seething under their words, flickering behind their eyes.

When your abuser talks to you in a quiet, hushed voice...it is the most dangerous way of all.

"I said" there was that soft voice again "do you know what happens?" Logan gulped as a finger under his chin lifted his head so that he was looking into his father's eyes.

"N-no, Daddy."

"Hmmm...well, it's a well known fact that they have to be...cleansed of their sins. Do you know what a sin is, Logan?"

"No, Daddy."

"A sin is when someone has done something very bad. So bad that everyone will hate them and think they are absolutely disgusting unless they are cleaned. Unless their sins are washed away. Have you sinned, Logan?"

"Umm..." Logan fell silent at his father's question. There had been a few times when he had wet the bed before and they had managed to conceal it from their father. All those times Logan had felt like he had been really bad but James had reassured him _every single_ time that it was ok. It was an accident and he couldn't help it. But now his father was saying that it was bad and that everyone would hate him. James had also told him that he shouldn't listen to his father, but now he was just very confused.

"M-maybe?"

"I think you have. But don't worry; Daddy is going to wash you clean."

Suddenly, Logan's face was underwater and unable to get up because of a strong hand on the back on his head, shoving him down and keeping him there. The little boy choked on the water that had entered his mouth, having been unaware that he would have needed to hold his breath. He continued to choke until he was pulled up again and started gasping for air.

"_See_, this is helping. Only a few more to go!"

Over and over again he was plunged into the water unexpectedly. Every time Logan tried to take in as much air as he could and hold his breath for as long as possible. It was working until he was held under longer and longer each time. He was tiring, constantly gasping whilst out of the water and lungs burning when he was under.

"Last time, little Logie. If you can hold your breath for just a tiny bit longer you'll be completely cleansed." A sadistic smirk twisted the contours of the elder's face as he gripped Logan's head extremely hard this time, pinching skin and drawing blood.

Logan tried to regulate his breathing as fast as he could so that he could take in as much air as possible for this last plunge that would surely be the longest. But it was no use. His lungs were already aching from the past efforts of being pushed to breaking point, he was freezing and exhausted. He didn't have enough strength this time to calm down enough and was left still gasping as he was forced under again.

The seconds ticked by and soon the small boy found himself thrashing in a desperate attempt to surface, to get the air that he so very much needed, but he was just pushed down further, his diminished strength helping to do nothing at all.

His lungs cried out for help and even though he was determined to make it through, his head became lighter and his body heavier, anchoring him in the water rather than working with his mind to pull him out. His thoughts became cloudy and confused, and no comprehension of the fact that he was underwater led to the first lungful of liquid being sucked in, followed by another and another. He was going to drown.

He was going to drown.

Darkness engulfed his world and he slumped into the water.

* * *

Gasping. Choking. Coughing.

Pools of water spewed out of his mouth like a waterfall as he gagged around them, his shivering body heaving and wracking with the effort.

It hurt to breathe, his lungs groaning every time he sucked in more precious oxygen that he had been deprived of. He couldn't focus on anything else but that beautiful oxygen. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"YOU CAN STAY OUT THERE LIKE THE MUT YOU ARE FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT. GET HOUSETRAINED, VERMIN!"

A harsh slam signalled that he was finally alone. Using his trembling arms to pull himself up into a sitting position, he looked around disorientated. He could barely make out where he was, whether it was because it was pitch black or because he was simply too weak to open his eyes more than halfway, he didn't know.

He could faintly see the outline of a house. _Their house._

He'd been locked out in the backyard. Alone.

The 4-year-old whimpered to himself. It was scary being outside this late at night. He didn't go out at night very much, only last year when it had been Halloween and James had taken him and Carlos trick-or-treating. Their father had gone out of town with some alcoholic, drug addict mates which meant that they had a rare opportunity to do something they wanted and to have fun. Carlos had been once before and kept on ranting and raving all the way to the costume shop, but Logan hadn't known what to expect.

He didn't understand why people would want them coming up to their door and asking if they wanted a 'trick' or if they would give them a 'treat'. But when they started going round the neighbourhood, Carlos dressed as the Hulk and he himself as Batman – because Batman was awesome – and they started to get loads of candy, he began to see why they did it. By the end of the night they had all had a great time. It was one of Logan's favourite memories.

But even then, they hadn't been out that late at night. They had been home by eight, read a story and gone straight to sleep. Now, however, there was a lot of strange rustling sounds around him that made the hair on his arms stand up on end. The wind was blowing ferociously and made a strange 'whooing' sound that made the little one want to curl up in a ball and cry, but he didn't have enough energy to. The near-drowning experience had wiped him of everything he had.

Something cackled in the distance and Logan cried out in fear, his voice cracked and hoarse from the water that had raged down his throat and into his lungs. He desperately tried to stand up on his wobbly legs to find somewhere he could get back in or even somewhere to hide from the scary things, but one step and the shaky limbs sent him straight back to the grass where he was before.

He was freezing cold, surrounded by goodness knows what and he didn't even have his Winnie to hold and tell him that everything would be ok. He wanted James and Carlos. He didn't want to be outside anymore.

But no one came for him. James and Carlos were in the basement, there was no way they could get past the industrial locks and wrench the door open to come and save him from the daunting night that lay in wait for him. No one could do anything.

Logan laid there on the grass, pulled his knees to his chest and cried to himself, not caring how his lungs stung with the effort.

No one could hear him anyway.

* * *

**Poor boys, what do you think will happen next?**

**Please comment, favourite and tell me what you think!**

**Thank you,**

**~swagUPwindowsDOWN ****J**** x**


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